Chip is a five-year-old dog. He was found in a shelter and taken home to an environment of love, appreciation, openness, and tenderness. Where he came from, nobody knew. He showed up one afternoon in a rainstorm, wet, scared, cold and hungry. He trusted the man who picked him up in a truck. He trusted the people who took him in and cleaned him up. He trusted them when they placed him in a cage and trusted the food they placed in front of him. As he waited, for what, he didn't know but as he was present in this place, he interacted, played and shared with the others around him.
Within two weeks, he was adopted by a woman and trusted her as he rode home in her car. When he arrived to his new home, he smelled every corner. He continually checked in with the woman as she watched his exploration. They trusted each other, in these moments and the next four years as they learned about each other's fears, favorites and an array of personality traits and habits.
They trusted each other. They moved into each other as they would give and take in each moment, each situation, each day and thereafter.
As I drove, we made a stop at the bank. After leaving the bank, which gave us two doggie treats, the woman who adopted Chip shared one of the treats with him. Chip enjoyed each morsel as he crunched and chewed through the treat. I could hear the sounds of someone thoroughly enjoying their meal as I drove. I anticipated the devouring of the next treat as we drove towards home. Within a few minutes, I asked if Chip had had his second treat. The woman began to speak rather... teach, "No, he doesn't need the next one yet." "Really I said, Aren't they his favorite?" She said, "Oh yes!" After a few quiet moments she went on, "That's the real beauty of this relationship between us. He trusts that when he wants the next treat, it is here. He trusts that what he needs is available to him. He never worries if there will be enough. He trusts that I will be here for him and share what he needs or wants. He trusts me and with that, he doesn't need to consume everything up all at once. He doesn't consume more than he needs in the moment." As I looked in my rear view mirror, I saw Relationship sitting in my back seat: Relationship looking at each other as if they were in perfect agreement of what the woman had just shared. Chip looking at her, trusting in her every word and looking at me wondering if I heard the teaching. I drove and felt the Love filling the car, trust filling all our hearts.
As I drove, I wondered if I had trusted with such abandonment, with such certainty, with such ... trust. As I looked over my life and the world I've helped create, I wondered how much I had consumed beyond what was really needed -- out of fear, lack, sacrifice, anger, power and because I could. From nature, to kids, to family, had I trusted to know when "enough" was? Had I ever trusted enough to live in each moment knowing that there is always enough and there is something/someone always with me ready and prepared to "feed me".
As I neared home, I looked again in my rear view mirror. There they sat, looking at me, smiling (yes, Chip was smiling), and their thought permeated mine to bring me into the present. I knew in that moment, they didn't care if I had trusted. Their thought asked mine, "Can you trust now and from now on?"
At that moment, and now as I share this, I remember that trust, the relationship, the Love from Home I long, long ago thought I had gotten lost from. I remember being taken in, by my parents, as they gave birth to me. I remember them taking me into their home, hearts, and lives. That became my shelter for many years. And in this teaching, I remembered I never left Home. I have never been alone and my uncertainties, fears, guilt, sacrifice, understandings, growth, talents, passions were all available to feed me. They were all held out to me to consume all at once or over time. It was all up to me how quickly I was fed, how fast I ate from Creation's hand and the wisdom to know when enough is enough, when I was full and to trust there is always more.